


He knows I don’t need saving & rescues me anyhow

by glim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Boss/Employee Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Romance, Sam Wilson Feels, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: And that's another thing Steve knows he's good at: taking care of people. He's fantastic at looking after other people, whether they realize it or not.





	He knows I don’t need saving & rescues me anyhow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'AU: Alternate Professions' square on my trope bingo card. 
> 
> Title from the poem [Whom You Love](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/whom-you-love) by Joseph O. Legaspi.

"You can sit right here. Mr. Wilson will be back soon and he'll take it from there." 

"Thank you." Steve sits down in his new boss's office and lets out a careful breath. He's been to the VA a couple times with Bucky, and, of course, he was here for the job interview. 

But being here for his first day of work, that's a little different. He's sweating under his carefully ironed shirt and his necktie feels awkward, like he's wearing a costume instead of work clothes. 

God, but he needs this job. He needs something full-time with a decent health care plan that's not going to make him take full and copious advantage of said health care plan. Freelance illustration and graphics work only goes so far to pay the bills, and working a couple part-time jobs had nearly killed him. 

Okay, not literally, but his asthma had been so awful from the stress that even a normal, run of the mill head cold had wiped him out for a few days. 

So, yeah, Steve needs this job, and if it means wearing a necktie while organizing somebody else's work and social calendar, he can do that. He's good at organizing, he's good at delegating, and he's great at event planning. 

When the door behind him opens, Steve stands up and holds out his hand. "Good morning." 

"Good morning..." The man who walks into the office is distracted by the paper he's reading, but he nods to Steve. "You're not my ten o'clock already, are you?" 

"No? I'm... I'm the new PA, for Mr. Wilson. I'm Steve Rogers." 

The man looks at him, confused, and then frowns. "Hold on just a minute," he says, and gives Steve a brief smile. "You're good, just hold on." 

Steve tries his best not to listen to the conversation outside the office, but, well, their voices are definitely loud enough and Steve can tell they're talking about him. 

"You need an assistant." 

"I need a vacation."

"That, too." 

"You said you'd get me a PA, not a hipster. And that... that's a _hipster_. White college kid who dresses like he's ninety-years old? Hipster."

Steve grimaces and considers turning his hearing aids off. He's pretty sure he wasn't meant to hear that conversation and while part of the estimation of him correct, he's definitely not a college kid anymore. He graduated five years ago with his MFA and if this guy doesn't have the time or decency to even look at his resume, well... 

Well. He could have his job back. He didn't want a PA, and waiting around to get fired isn't exactly on Steve's list of things to get done this month. Steve tenses, then takes in a few slow, deep breaths. Benefits, health plan, regular paycheck.

The voices die down outside to a friendly, relaxed hush and Steve feels his jaw start to unclench. Obviously the guy outside is at least twice as stressed and exhausted as Steve is, if the mere tone of his voice is anything to go by, and while he might not want a PA, he probably needs one. 

And that's another thing Steve knows he's good at: taking care of people. He's fantastic at looking after other people, whether they realize it or not.

When his new boss re-enters the office, the expression on his face is half-resignation, half-gratitude. He gives Steve an apologetic smile and holds out his hand.

"Let's try that again. Good morning," he says and holds his hand out to Steve. "I'm Sam Wilson." The look in his eyes is kind and open, and behind it, Steve can see the tell-tale sign of fatigue. 

"Steve Rogers," Steve says. Sam's handshake is warm and firm, however, and draws Steve in immediately. "This is our office?"

"This is our office, be it ever so humble. Welcome to the VA. We got a lot of work, so let's get you started." 

*

Five things Steve learns from working for Sam Wilson within three weeks of employment: 

  1. Sam likes to go running before work. He gets up an hour earlier just to go running and he's usually awake and pretty cheerful most mornings.
  

  2. He crashes just before lunch. Serious, needs food and caffeine sort of crash. Lunch meetings are generally a no-go unless he eats something before the actual meeting. (He forgets about the crash regularly and works through lunch way too many days per week. Steve learns to order lunch ahead of time on busy days and enjoys being able to hand over soup and sandwiches when Sam needs them most. If you let him, he'll work while he eats, but he'll stop Steve from doing the same. After two arguments, they compromise and decide to eat together and not talk about work for at least twenty minutes.)
  

  3. Mornings are for meetings, afternoons for individual and group therapy sessions. If they need more sessions, however, Sam will take those on, either in the morning or evening. He loves his people and will fit them in whenever he can.
  

  4. Drinks after work on Thursdays are super relaxed. Steve has an open invitation, but Sam still invites him special every Thursday anyway.
  

  5. Every time he shakes Steve's hand after the first time, his grip is really strong, and really warm, and Steve always, _always_ holds on a couple seconds too long.



That last one is more about Steve than anything or anyone else, but three weeks into his job, Steve's pretty sure he's in trouble. The strange, sudden urge he had on the first day to start looking after Sam only grows as the weeks pass. 

* 

"Okay, meeting at... two o'clock?" Steve asks, already penciling it into the calendar on Sam's desk. "And you said you wanted to give that Saturday talk at the Air  & Space Museum next month..." 

Sam's pacing his own office, reviewing notes, and he stops to look at Steve. He thinks for a few minutes, and then nods. "Right, right, I need to send an email about that." 

"I already sent it." Steve adds another meeting to the calendar and then looks up. "I fixed up the draft you sent me and sent it in this morning. Your email was fine, hardly needed any changes." 

Sam's quiet for a second, then just give Steve one of his genuine, bright smiles. "I think you spend more time at my desk than I do." 

"It's more comfortable than my desk," Steve says. He turns aside to go through the calendar on Sam's computer, and to hide the flush he can feel creeping up the back of his neck. "Better chair. My back appreciates it." 

It's not fair how Sam's voice can be just as warm as his touch, just as expansive and generous, and how often he directs that warmth and generosity towards Steve. Sure, he's Steve's boss, but he makes sure to ask Steve to come along for office drinks night, he has lunch with Steve more often than not, he says good morning and reminds Steve to go home at five o'clock every day. 

It's even more unfair how incredibly good looking he is, Steve thinks, and stops himself from thinking about that more lest he start to blush in earnest. Good looking and fit. 

Shoulders, Steve thinks, really _great_ shoulders, and he looks amazing in the dark suit jacket and tie he has on for the funding proposal. Steve lets that thought drift through his mind pleasantly before giving himself a shake. 

He allows Sam five more minutes to pace, and then turns back to him. 

__"Why don't you give me your speech--"_ _

__"--it's a proposal--"_ _

__"--your _proposal_ ," Steve corrects, "to me, instead of pacing and staring at your notes." _ _

__Sam pauses mid-step and takes in a deep breath. "Fuck," he says, and then, "I'm nervous."_ _

__"Don't be. Your proposal is great. I wrote half of it." Steve beams a bit when Sam glares. "C'mon, you're going to be great, Sam. You're going to get the minority affairs conference funded and we'll go out for drinks and I'll even drag you to the hipster cocktail place around the corner to celebrate."_ _

__"That's supposed to motivate me? You are not good at that, Rogers." Sam taps the index cards against one hand, and then paces for another minute._ _

__Steve gives Sam the time he needs to settle his thoughts. He goes back to organizing and color-coding Sam's online calendar, and then goes into his own email to start cleaning up his Thursday morning flagged emails. Eventually, the footsteps approach the desk and the cards drop down onto the calendar._ _

__"Okay," Sam says._ _

__"Okay." Steve picks up the cards, straightens them out, and leans back to listen to Sam give his proposal._ _

__*_ _

__Steve's desk is about half the size of Sam's, is covered in various post-it notes, and looks more like the storyboards Steve uses for his art than anything else. Sam's right--he spends a lot more time sitting at Sam's desk than he does his own, and as long as Sam doesn't complain about it, neither will Steve._ _

__Anyway, Sam likes to walk around when he's thinking, likes to be active, and likes to have Steve walking next to him as he goes from his morning meetings to his afternoon group sessions._ _

__"Now, _this_ , this you're good at." He rests a hand on Steve's shoulder and guides him toward the meeting room._ _

__"Taking notes?" Steve asks. He knows that's not what Sam means, but he's enjoying the feel of Sam's hand on his shoulder too much for the conversation to end yet._ _

__"Well, yeah, you're okay at that. Nice, neat Catholic school penmanship, yeah?"_ _

__Steve flushes a little. Fuck, Sam complimented his _handwriting_. That's not even close to blushing territory. "Kinda, yeah, okay, for a few years. Glad you like it, though." _ _

__Sam nods and makes a thoughtful sound. His hand slips down to the small of Steve's back and they walk into the large, still-empty room. "I'm pretty sure I'm doing at least three people's jobs after the last budget cut."_ _

__"Probably, if your inbox and your stress levels were anything to go by."_ _

__"You--" Sam shakes his head, but his hand stays on Steve's back. "Yeah, you got me, at least on the inbox, weak point there. You're good at keeping me right," he says, "not just all the color-coding and the way you do that thing with Excel that works the first time."_ _

__"Thanks. For all that, it's ... it feels good to hear you say that. I'm pretty dedicated to making sure you don't overwork yourself into a coma." Steve flushes again and this time he has to look away lest he start to turn a deeper shade of embarrassed pink. "You're going to be great, you know, right? You're really good at talking to people and helping them realize what's important."_ _

__Sam draws in a slow breath, and then lets it out in a sigh. He draws Steve in against his side for a warm, tight hug, and even though he still looks a little nervous when he lets go of Steve, he looks good. Confident._ _

__*_ _

__"Oh my god. No."_ _

__"It's a martini," Steve says. He nudges the glass closer to Sam. "C'mon, boss. You earned it."_ _

__"Oh my _god_ ," Sam says again, and this time laughs. "You are such a fucking hipster. Remind me what it is I see in you?" _ _

__"Hmm... I feel like I've heard that before. My loyalty and quick charm?" Steve takes sip from his own drink, then swirls the olive around. It's a personal victory that not only did he get Sam to come to the cocktail bar with him, but that he's having a drink with Steve, sprawled out, relaxed, smiling._ _

__"This place looks like somebody's basement, circa 1972. You're wearing a plaid shirt I'm sure my old man owned in 1972, and a cardigan. And the glasses."_ _

__"Well, I need the glasses. To _see_." Steve takes another sip from his drink. "Hey. You got your conference funding. And I'm pretty sure I heard somebody call your speech--"_ _

__"--proposal--"_ _

" _Proposal_ , Jesus, okay, I'll remember," Steve amends. "Anyway, somebody called it 'enlightened.' I'm pretty sure they meant the half I wrote." 

"I highly doubt that, Rogers." Sam takes up his martini and eases back in his seat as he drinks. "You're good. We make a good team." 

"For a hipster?" 

Sam smiles a quick, apologetic smile, and motions with his glass at Steve. "For somebody who thinks right-clicking on 'thesaurus' is how to write a speech." He looks at Steve for a second, and leans in closer to him at the small table they're sharing. "What did you go before you got yourself stuck organizing my emails and learning everyone at the VA's lunch schedules?" 

"Art school, mostly, I have a BA and MFA, and then lots of freelance stuff. Part-time jobs. Some adjunct work at the community college." Steve plays with his cocktail napkin, fraying the edge. "But you know all that, from my resume." 

"Sure, I know the bulleted list. You're an artist, though?" 

"I am. Okay, it doesn't pay the bills all the time, and it's nice to have a job that does. But art is more.... That's more me, you know? The way I get words and ideas into pictures on paper." 

"I can see it, even in the small things you do. Flyers for the VA, and the way you set up displays. Or fix displays other people set up," Sam adds. "You should show me more of your original stuff someday." 

Steve ducks his head down. He has another sip from his drink, nursing it so it lasts longer, as he knows his stomach isn't going to be able to handle two. "I also did ROTC in high school, but it was pretty obvious early on I'd never be able to join up." 

"The asthma?" 

"The asthma, the janky heart.... everything. I knew going in freshman year, but it was still a blow when my best friend joined up after graduation." 

Sam's quiet for a while, then gives Steve a long look. "I bet," he says, "but I also bet there are some cute pictures of you in uniform from back then." 

"Oh, no, awkward ones? Sure. Lots of awkward ones from battalion formations." 

"Cute ones," Sam says over the edge of his glass in a way that Steve's at least ninety-percent sure is meant to be flirty. 

Okay, ninety-five, after the smile Sam gives him, and Steve is ready to take all night to drink that one martini. "Maybe. Nothing like the ones I've seen of you in uniform." 

"Oh, no, this is not about me. You just got see them from the job; I'm going to have to find your mom and ask her." 

"Oh, god, no, because she will." Steve catches the smile that lights Sam's eyes. "You like it, though? Being out of the service?" 

"I do," Sam replies without hesitation. "This is where I belong now, I can tell. I want to help people, and if that means lunch meetings and endless post-it notes, I guess I'm here for that stuff, too." 

"I'll take care of the post-it side of the job," Steve says. _And you, I'll take care of you and make sure you eat lunch and go home before six and don't give too much of yourself away before you can recharge._

"That's what I hired you for," Sam says, but he touches Steve's hand and lets his touch linger a little longer than he needs to. 

Not longer than Steve wants, though, and when Sam offers to buy him another drink, he agrees and asks for seltzer and lemon. Sam comes back to their table with two glasses of the same, and they spend at least another hour talking quietly and there are at least a half-dozen more small, brief, warm touches. 

* 

"Are you getting out of bed this morning?" 

Steve flicks his eyes from his bed to the doorway to his bedroom. Bucky's already showered and dressed, his damp hair pulled into a ponytail. 

"It's Saturday." 

"It's farmer's market day," Bucky replies. 

Steve closes his eyes and buries his face in the pillow. Bucky's quiet, keeps to himself, goes out with Steve and their small circle of friends, and since leaving active duty, he hasn't been the most social guy ever. 

He fucking loves the farmer's market, though. He's befriended every seller at the local one and he'll talk to them for hours, seriously, _hours_ , about pretty much anything, ranging from artisan mustard to home brew beer to their kids' pre-school graduation. That's on the weekends he goes alone, though; days where he brings Steve along, he reins himself in. He must be having a subdued kind of day if he wants to go this early and with Steve, so Steve reaches for his phone. 

"You want to come?" Bucky asks, in that tone of voice that shows he's hoping for a yes. 

And Steve, because he's a good best friend and because he, aside from Bucky, also loves things like fresh vegetables and donuts, un-buries himself from the nest of blankets and pillows. "Okay, give me fifteen minutes and find me a clean pair of jeans. I know the laundry is still in the dryer..." 

Twenty minutes later, Steve's showered and dressed, has had a cup of coffee and an antihistamine tablet for breakfast, and he tugs a light jacket over his tee-shirt and hoodie against the early morning spring chill. 

"You ready?" 

Steve pats his jacket pockets. Phone, keys, wallet, inhaler. "Yeah, I'm good. Can we get something to eat there? I'm running on caffeine and Claritin at this point." 

Bucky _tsk_ s at him as they walk down the stairs from their apartment. "We'll get you a bagel." 

"An artisan bagel?" 

"You bet, Stevie, as artisan as you are." 

Just for that, Steve makes sure to get the most artisan bread product he can find, an organic, gluten-free, cranberry-orange flax seed bagel with soy-free vegan spread, and eats it while they mill around the farmer's market. As predicted, it's chilly and a little damp, but it feels good to be awake and walking around in the clear, cool morning. 

"Hey," Steve says, nudging Bucky as he examines salad greens. "Dude by the home brew stand." 

Bucky glances up, and then squints into the morning sunlight. "Yeah? He's pretty hot..." 

"Yeah, he really is," Steve says. "That's my boss." 

Bucky looks at Steve, looks across the market stalls to Sam, and then back at Steve. "Aww, shit, Steve. Can't you go back to dating your professors?" 

"That happened once," Steve says, sidestepping to get himself half-behind Bucky, the better to watch Sam smile and chat and look altogether adorable in jeans and a tee shirt under a leather jacket. "And Peggy was _a_ professor, not _my_ professor. I was in grad school." 

"The kinky hijinks you got yourself up to when I was away..." Bucky's back to picking out vegetables, though. He adds spinach and mixed greens to his order, and turns back to Steve when Steve just nibbles his bagel thoughtfully. "You should go talk to him..." 

Steve ponders it, then shakes his head. "He had a long week at work. Probably doesn't need a reminder. I left him six post-its on his desk calendar for Monday, and I sent him four emails from his own account about the conference, but also put in calendar alerts for his work phone, so I think he's sick of the way I micromanage--" 

"Uh, Steve..." Bucky touches his arm and glances over Steve's shoulder when Steve looks up. 

Steve frowns at Bucky, then turns, half-eaten bagel in hand, to meet Sam's warm, open smile. 

"Oh, hi." Steve chews and swallows, the bagel sticking in his throat with the hello, and returns Sam's smile as soon as he's sure he won't choke. "Hi," he says again, and this time shakes Sam's hand. "Sam, this my best friend, James Barnes. My boss, Sam Wilson," he says to Bucky. 

Bucky shakes hands, too, though he has to hand Steve his purchases to free up the hand. "Hey. Good to meet you." 

"Likewise. You've been to the VA? You look a little familiar." 

"That's right. A couple times a month, yeah, usually for Nadiya's sessions." 

Sam beams a bit, the way he always does when somebody mentions one of his team. "She's great. I wish I could talk the way she does," Sam says. "Are you the one that drags Steve out of the house so he doesn't spend the whole weekend inside? Look after him when he's not looking after me?" 

"I don't do that. And I don't need looking after." Steve huffs at both Sam and Bucky when they share a knowing glance. 

"He does," Bucky says, and then, "And, yeah, I guess I do." 

There's a tense, quiet moment, then Sam laughs, and Steve rolls his eyes, and the three of them spend the next half hour walking through the rest of the market. They fall into step together, and the conversation is a low hum of comments and half-caught smiles between Sam and Steve. 

By the time they're ready to leave, Steve's face hurts from how much he's smiling, from how _nice_ it is to have people who know him and can spend time so effortlessly with him. 

He touches Sam's hand briefly before they say good-bye. "Hey... that was... that was great. Really. Thanks for hanging out with us." 

"Hey, you're welcome. I appreciate good company. Barnes," Sam says, and gives Bucky a nod good-bye, then smiles and rests his hand on Steve's shoulder for a brief, warm moment. "I'll see you Monday. Text me, though, if you want to continue the non-work conversation." 

"I'll do that." Steve smiles again, then joins Bucky to walk in the other direction back to their apartment. 

__*_ _

Five things Steve learns from working for Sam Wilson from thirty minutes spent at the farmer's market: 

  1. Beer. He's a beer guy, but he appreciates a good mixed drink and the occasional foray into scotch. He's not interested in brewing his own, but definitely a beer guy.
  

  2. He likes to cook, but he's more interested in walking around the market and looking at the different spices and grains than buying any of them and attempting new recipes.
  

  3. He goes running on Saturdays, too, but Saturday nights are for being lazy and watching movies.
  

  4. Sundays are for family.
  

  5. He likes action movies, How It's Made, and has seen every episode of Psych at least twice.



* 

Sam texts Steve after dinner, and doesn't wait for Steve to reply to text him again. Short messages, asking how he's doing, what he's up to. 

Steve just beams at his phone happily and spends a good few moments doing that before he replies. 

_TV, mostly. Kind of wiped out from this week. You?_

_Same. Gonna watch a movie, have a beer. Fall asleep on the sofa. Wild night._

Steve laughs and does some more beaming. He spends some time thinking about Sam, home in sweats and a tee shirt, sleepy and relaxed. The thought is pleasant and comfortable, and Steve lets himself wallow in it while they text about their respective Saturday night entertainment. 

He goes to sleep smiling, happy it's the weekend, happy for the relaxed conversation and the promise of maybe more to come. 

It's been so long since he's met somebody who makes him feel like this, long enough that he's almost forgotten. 

* 

Monday and Tuesday at work go by at their usual pace, and Steve's post-it notes and calendar alerts only garner him a modicum of teasing on Monday morning. Tuesday's slow enough that he and Sam end up going out for a working lunch together. 

"We could eat outside, if you like," Steve offers. It's quieter outside, and he's already on his spring-to-autumn regimen of allergy meds, so he should be good for an hour or so. It's warm, but not too breezy, anyway. "It's kind of loud inside." 

"Right. Pick a table," Sam says, and lets Steve direct their host to a seat in a quiet, sunny corner. 

They don't spend too much time talking over lunch, what with the work they're both doing, but every so often, Sam lets his fingers graze over Sam's sleeve or his foot brush against Steve's. 

And, okay, it's probably--it's _definitely_ \--not the most professional thing to do. But Steve likes Sam an awful lot, and he's pretty sure they can find a way around their work relationship if, maybe, there's something else behind all the small touches that have sprung up between them. 

They eat salad and sandwiches and cake, trade tablets and folders between courses, and end up sending each other emails and leaving scrawled notes over half the papers in the folders. 

They have a decent mock-up of what the conference is going to look like by the time they finish their extended lunch hour, and Steve has at least a dozen ideas for artwork to help promote it. 

* 

Wednesday turns out to be comedy of errors, mostly due to the fact that the VA needs the conference mapped out in full by Friday and nobody got around to telling Sam. He spends half his morning in other people's offices organizing what he can as fast as he can, the rest of the morning in a meeting with the rest of the conference committee, and doesn't get back to his own office until after two o'clock. 

Sam sits down with a heavy, tired sigh at Steve's desk. "This chair really is uncomfortable. No wonder you took my desk over." 

"You seriously never sit at it. There's lunch for you in the fridge. Soup, and chicken stir-fry." Steve continues typing, then looks away when Sam doesn't move from Steve's desk. "I'll go get it for you." 

He reheats and brings Sam his lunch, pushes all paperwork away from Sam, and sits down to flip through one of his sketchbooks while Sam eats. 

"Did you get--" 

"Nope." Steve doesn't look up from his current drawing. "You can ask about the conference planning and tell me about your meeting after you finish eating. At least finish the soup," he adds when he can _feel_ Sam's dissatisfaction radiating off of him.. 

When Sam's done, Steve relinquishes his seat at Sam's desk and curls up in his own chair. He has work to do, sure, but he keeps an eye on Sam, brings him coffee and water and Advil, and reads over his shoulder when he gets an email that makes him throw up his hands in frustration. 

"Okay," Steve says. "You can answer that one tomorrow." 

"Just to piss them off?" 

"I would never, ever suggest that." He rests his hands on Sam's shoulders and squeezes. "Anyway, it's after five now. Email can wait, and you should go home." 

Sam leans back in his seat, and looks up at Steve. "I should finish the conference schedule, at least. I can get that done at home, though. You want a ride home? Or do you enjoy the subway? I drove in today." 

"Not enough to turn down a ride." Steve rubs Sam's shoulders again, then goes to collect his things. "I can take some of that work to get it done at home, too," he suggests as they walk out to Sam's car. 

"Okay. Or we could work through dinner tonight? Get it done more quickly..." 

"We could do take-out and probably finish up planning the rest of the conference," Steve says. "We already have a decent mock-up. I know you don't like working from home, but if I help you out, you could still go to bed at reasonable hour." 

"Right, take-out and conference planning at my place. That sound good to you?" 

"Sure." Steve gets in next to Sam and slides his messenger bag off his shoulder. "Do you have... it's okay if you do, but, pets?" 

"Hm?" Sam puts on his seatbelt and checks the traffic around them, then glances at Steve. "What? Oh, no, sorry. Why?" 

Steve shrugs one shoulder and looks down at his lap. This shouldn't be awkward anymore; he's been asking the same questions of friends, then co-workers, for at least twenty years now, before going over their houses. "No, it's nothing, I just... you know," he says, and shrugs again. 

Sam looks at him and Steve can guess what he's thinking. He's half-expecting Sam to enumerate all of Steve's health issues, as if Steve isn't aware of them, or to shake his head at Steve in that 'poor kid' way he gets from people sometimes. Something defensive and hopefully cutting almost rises to his lips, but Sam gives him a tired nod of understanding. 

"Yeah, I feel you. I'm definitely allergic to cats, and I definitely don't have time for a dog. So, you're good. I'll look out for you other places, too." 

"Thanks. What about hamsters?" Steve asks and smiles at the look on Sam's face. "You could have a hamster..." 

"Do I look like a hamster guy? Wait, please don't answer that, Rogers." 

Steve smiles again and lets out a tired sigh of his own. Okay, he was wrong, and he should've known better. Sam's not like that, and Steve's knows he's not. They're both tired, and a little edgy, and Steve's suddenly and incredibly grateful that he has somebody like Sam as his boss and as his friend. 

That thought comes unbidden to his mind and Steve just finds himself smiling all over again. He really likes Sam quite a bit. More than a bit, and probably too much, but he's too tired fight that thought off tonight. 

They pick up Thai take-out on the way to Sam's house, which turns out to be small and neat and comfortable, and just reminds Steve inimitably of Sam. There's that same relaxed, but well-appointed air his office has, but here it's all books and family photos, a couple blankets on the sofa, DVDs in front of the tv set, a half-finished bottle of wine on the kitchen table. 

They work through all of the latest Star Wars movie, and end up sitting unbearably close together on the sofa while Steve scrolls through the mock-up of the conference program on his laptop. 

"That's.... Pretty good. We've got somebody in graphic design, but if you want to hold onto this yourself, Steve, you should." Sam leans in closer to get a better look, his shoulder pressing against Steve's. 

When Steve leans into the touch, he makes a curious sound, and then gives Steve a hopeful smile after he slides his arm around Steve's shoulders. 

Steve nestles in closer, spends a few minutes going through all their files and resaving them to online storage, then closes his laptop and places it aside. He curls in against Sam's side, wondering if he should say something, or do something, but only ends up making a tired, pleased sound. 

"This is nice," he murmurs, eventually. 

"Yeah," Sam agrees. He gives Steve a hug around the shoulders. "Do you think--" 

"--yes?" Steve says, and then feels a little foolish. "I mean--look," he says, and rests one hand on Sam's chest, hoping as hard as he can that he's not wrong, "I'm so tired, like honest to god this job better give me some time off soon tired, and I know you are, too, but I'm... I really want to be kissing you right now. Which is maybe.... Not a thing we should be doing, but..." 

Sam narrows his eyes at Steve, and then smiles, that same slow smile that seems to plumb the very depths of his warm, brown eyes. 

"Rogers," he says, and then, touching the side of Steve's face, "Steve... you worry too much sometimes," he mutters, and then dips his head down to brush his lips over Steve's. 

And that's enough to keep Steve from talking for most of the rest of the evening. Because Sam just doesn't kiss him once, but kisses him again, the brush of his lips soft and careful, and then a third time, less careful and with the gentle slide of his tongue over Steve's lips. 

Sam draws back and touches Steve's face again, tracing the angle of his jaw, and looks a little shy when Steve strokes his cheek gently. 

"Hey..." Steve's voice goes low and quiet with the word, and Sam must like it because his thumb brushes over Steve's lower lip. 

"Hey," he murmurs, touches Steve's mouth again. "We good?" 

"Very." Then he's kissing Sam again and he's a little dizzy with the sensation of it all. He's half in Sam's lap by the time he remembers to pull off his glasses, Sam's hand at the small of his back, urging Steve in closer. 

He's not sure how long they spend kissing, and then how long they spent tucked in against each other on the sofa, talking in soft, low voices. Not long enough is all he can say when Sam hands him back his glasses and offers to drive him home. 

* 

Bucky looks up from the movie he's watching and frowns at Steve. "You're home late." 

"Yeah, I had stuff to finish up for work." Steve drops down onto the sofa next to Bucky and leans his head back against the cushions with a tired groan. "I'm just going to sleep here tonight." 

"You must love that job," Bucky says. He gives Steve another frown. 

"You have no idea." 

Bucky pats Steve on the leg. "Okay, just don't love it so much that you run yourself down, yeah? You want a beer?" 

Steve shakes his head. "Tea?" 

"Sure, buddy." Bucky gives Steve's leg another pat, and gets up from the sofa. 

While he's gone, Steve sinks into the combined exhaustion and exhilaration he feels. The conference is planned, he and Sam are completely going to make that deadline with time to spare, and Sam kissed him not once or twice, but at least a dozen times over tonight. Proper kisses, and there was cuddling, and dozing off together, and .... yeah, Steve's just going to fall asleep here and wallow in this sense of pleased exhaustion. He can still catch the soft, muted scent of Sam's aftershave on his skin and can still feel the tingle against his palms when he imagines the way Sam's chest felt under his hands. 

"You look way too happy for somebody who worked a twelve-hour day," Bucky says when he comes back with tea for Steve. 

Steve hums his agreement and wraps his hands around the mug. "I think I'm due for some time off." 

* 

That time off comes a lot sooner than Steve expected. 

Sam has a breakfast meeting on Friday morning, so he's already out when Steve gets to work. It's past ten o'clock when he comes back to find Steve sorting mail. 

"You look wiped out," Sam says. He rubs Steve's back a little, and closes his office door behind him. 

Steve fights the urge to get defensive. He's got that allergy/asthma/not enough sleep thing going on this morning, and he's pretty sure it shows on his face. "I'm okay. How was your meeting?" 

"Fine, actually. Conference plans are ready to go through, and we'll finalize in the next couple weeks." Sam rubs Steve's back again and gives him a little frown. "You sure--" 

"Yeah. I think I'm going to have the world's most boring, not leaving the sofa kind of weekend, though." 

"Well, you could spend some of that time on my sofa. If you need a change of scenery." 

"I could do that. I could really do that," Steve says. He shuffles some of the envelopes together and hands them over to Sam. "Those are the important ones. What about Saturday? I'd probably just fall asleep on you tonight before eight o'clock." 

"I'm not sure that's truly a problem." Sam starts to read through the envelopes, and gives Steve a grateful look. "But Saturday's fine. And since I have that lunch over at the Smithsonian, you can leave early today. I'm going home after the lunch," he adds before Steve can protest. "Well, the grocery store, and then home. The food situation has reached critical levels." 

"Lots of pasta?" 

" _Lots_ of pasta," Sam agrees. He pulls away from Steve to stretch and rub his face. "God, this has been a week." 

Steve touches Sam's arm. "Get something with vegetables and protein for dinner. And relax a little, too, okay? And if you want to talk..." 

"About something other than work, I hope..." Sam moves into Steve's touch; he's still for a few seconds, indecision flickering over his face, and then a quiet smile as leans down to press a kiss to Steve's lips. "Can I call you?" 

"Facetime me?" Steve returns the kiss once, and then twice, and then rubs his nose up over Sam's. "We could watch a movie together or something." 

"Does it count as a date if we do that?" 

Steve thinks, then nods. "It counts as a tired, over-worked people date. And if I fall asleep, you can just hang up." 

"Yeah, okay, but..." Sam keeps his arms around Steve even as they end the kissing. "I'm thinking I'd rather be there when you fall asleep watching tv, and see you when you wake up as the credits roll." 

* 

Steve's Friday nights are pretty predictable. He and Bucky get pizza, they talk about their work week, and Steve gets to hear about the wide, exciting world of info tech from Bucky. He didn't talk about the Army much or anything else after he came home, injured and tacit, but now he talks about work pretty easily, and about Natasha, his on-again-off-again relationship. 

"We not seeing other people," Bucky had explained once, "we just don't feel like seeing each other all the time." 

That seemed to sum up the relationship pretty well, and if it made Bucky and Nat happy, well, Steve couldn't really say much against it. 

"Nat wants to get coffee after the farmer's market tomorrow," Bucky says, handing Steve another slice of pizza. 

"She can just come with us." 

"Hell no. She's too impatient and only cares about the place with the muffins she likes. She doesn't know how to linger." 

Steve's pretty sure that's not absolutely true, just in comparison to Bucky. "Okay, coffee then, that's cool." 

"You should ask your Sam to come." 

"Um." Steve pauses, pizza in hand, and feels something like excitement and panic rise in his chest. "On a double date?" 

"Fuck, _no_. You know she doesn't know how to date, either. It's one of her best qualities." 

The panic dissolves and Steve lets out a sharp laugh before going back to his pizza. "Right, friendly couples coffee. You guys are so weird about this stuff." 

* 

"We can do the coffee thing. Sounds nice," Sam says. He's walking around his apartment as he Facetimes with Steve, getting a beer from the fridge and then settling down on the sofa. 

"You're sure? I guess we can escape if it gets weird." 

"They're your friends," Sam points out. 

"Yeah, exactly." Steve burrows himself down into the nest of blankets and pillows on his bed and makes a happy, tired sound. He's warm, and comfortable, and Sam's smiling and wearing a loose, thin, white vee-neck tee shirt as he talks to Steve. "This is so good. Is it too soon to feel this good?" 

"God, I hope not. Because I'm having a pretty good night here." 

"On your tired, overworked person date?" Steve says. It really is the next to best thing he can imagine, though, falling asleep with Sam right there with him. "We'll have a real date tomorrow. I'll buy you a coffee and take you out for dinner. I'll pick a place for us." 

Sam yawns and stretches, and gives Steve a worn out, but pleased look. "Okay, you're the boss. Wherever you want to go." 

* 

"Well, that wasn't the weirdest coffee date I've ever been on." Sam puts his arm around Steve's shoulders and leans in to kiss his hair after Bucky and Nat leave. 

"It wasn't a date," Steve reminds him. He leans in against Sam and reaches for his cup of tea. "This is the date part. I think? I hope..." 

"Ah, right. Let's do this right, then." Sam shifts in his seat so he's nearer to Steve and this time brushes a kiss over his ear. "You look nice today." 

Steve smiles, gives a little shiver at the light touch of lips and breath against his ear. He only has on a white button-up and dark wash skinny jeans under his jacket, nothing special, but it's definitely nicer than his usual Saturday morning farmer's market and coffee outfit and different from his work clothes. Neater, sharper, or, at least, that's what Steve was aiming for. 

Sam, on the other hand, Sam looks amazing. He's wearing a shirt that's the right shade of grey that's almost blue, almost purple, that's pretty much perfect with his complexion. The shirt's also just tight enough that Steve wants to trace the faint outline of Sam's chest and stomach with the tips of his fingers. 

"You look.... I love seeing you like this. Relaxed, not super tense." Steve glances over at Sam, then rests his head back against Sam's shoulder. "I want to buy you another coffee." 

"You're easy to relax around. And that sounds like a good Saturday morning. Coffee, and you want to go for a walk?" 

"I'd like that." Mostly, though, he wants to stay tucked into their booth at the back of the cafe, drinking tea and listening to Sam talk about his family or the music he likes, or, well, anything really. 

Eventually, they end up leaving the cafe to walk back through the last of the farmer's market, and then back towards Steve's apartment, stopping for lunch along the way. Sandwiches and chips and soda, fast and cheap, and it means Steve can keep Sam all to himself for a little longer. 

"We could eat outside again, if you wanted?" 

"Yeah, no, you've already sneezed about a half-dozen times." 

Steve shrugs away the concern, but not Sam's hand on his shoulder as he turns Steve away from the grassy area in front of his apartment building and toward the door. "I'm used to it, though." 

They walk quietly into the building, and then into the elevator. Steve wills himself not to rub his face, knowing the itchy feeling will die down once they're inside for a little while, and he gives Sam a brief nod and smile when Sam brushes Steve's hair back off his forehead. 

"Look, Steve," Sam says as he slips Steve's house keys out of his fingers and lets Steve turn away to muffle yet another sneeze against his shoulder. "I get you like doing the fussing and not getting fussed at much in return, but .... First, I'm not going to enjoy eating while you're suffering, and second, c'mon. You can let me do boyfriend-appropriate things like tell you not to sit outside all day during allergy season." 

"You -- I -- _We_. Boyfriends. Right. Okay." Steve pauses in the middle of the living room, frowns in thought, and gives a sigh. "I'm good," he finally says, but leans in when Sam puts both arms around his shoulders and tells himself he doesn't have to turn down the attention to prove anything to Sam. "I really am good, but thanks. You'll know I'm not okay when I start wheezing." 

"Not a thing I'm looking forward to happening, but useful to know. I can look out for you." 

And instead of tensing up or setting his jaw, Steve feels his defenses slip away as he presses his back into Sam's chest. Relaxes, and feels Sam's hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest to hold him closer. 

"We're not at work," Sam murmurs. "You don't have to do everything, and I don't have to do everything. We just do what we can for each other, together." 

That's when Steve knows that this is going to work out between them. He wants to give Sam everything, wants to look after him and make sure he's safe and happy, but he's also going to learn how to let Sam do some of those things for him, too. 

Steve turns in Sam's arms and takes in in his smile for as long as he can resist before leaning up to kiss him. There's quite a bit more kissing after that, and Sam murmuring quiet affection against Steve's neck as he holds him close and tight. 

It's the way that Sam rests one had at the small of Steve's back and urges him closer that gets to Steve; he keeps urging him closer, ever closer, kissing him harder and making a quiet, low sound at the back of his throat when Steve pushes up against the touch. 

"Maybe," Steve says, and he's a little breathless, "we could have lunch in a while... a little while, it can wait." 

"Oh, lunch can wait. You feel way too good right now to stop." Sam's hand skims up and down Steve's back, then he slips both hands around to Steve's chest to push off his jacket. He tosses it to the sofa, along with his own jacket, and rests one palm at the center of Steve's chest. "You are a good looking man, Steve Rogers." 

Steve wills himself not to blush, and mumbles his gratitude in a hoarse voice, rests one hand over Sam's, and his heart skips when Sam starts to undo the buttons on his shirt. 

There's a tumble of clothes on the floor by the time they fall onto the sofa, Steve in Sam's lap, kissing him and touching him and marveling with each one how lucky he is to have Sam. His heart does the skipping thing in his chest again when Sam rests both hands at Steve's hips and holds him still, touching their lips together gently after a deeper kiss. Sam's breath catches quiet and warm against Steve's mouth, and he smiles when Steve leans in to kiss his lower lip. 

"We can do this as long as you like," Sam says, and he chases after another kiss from Steve. 

"All day..." Steve dips his head down from the kiss to splay his fingers over Sam's stomach and trace all the lines and dips he'd been longing to earlier. "We'll have the place to ourselves, and I have you all to myself." 

He's going to memorize each curve and angle; he's going to memorize the angle of Sam's hip and the curve of his stomach, commit the lines to memory so that he can then commit them to paper, sharp and clean, or soft and smudged with memory and desire. 

He's going to memorize the skip of his heart when Sam smiles at him and all the different ways he'll learn to keep this man safe and close to him. 

* 

They eat their sandwiches half-dressed and draped over each other, Sam's feet in Steve's lap, Steve's shirt unbuttoned over his boxers. He eats some of Sam's lunch, half of his own, tells Sam to eat the rest of their sandwiches and heats up a can of soup when he decides it's chilly enough in the apartment to warrant soup. When they're done eating, Steve cleans up the living room as much as he can in five minutes so they can curl back up on the sofa together. 

"It's because you're half dressed, you realize that, right? It's not cold enough in here for soup." Sam pulls Steve in to stand between his legs and nuzzles Steve's stomach. He presses a kiss right over Steve's belly button and smiles against his skin when Steve twitches away from the touch. 

"Are you complaining?" Steve curls his palms around Sam's shoulders and finds himself thinking, yeah, that's a perfect fit, Sam's body fits under his hands and slots into the empty spaces of Steve's own body just right. "You could warm me up instead..." 

"I could do that. I can see myself wanting to do that." Sam notches his thumbs into the hollows of Steve's hips and gives a slow nod. 

Steve's good until he actually and embarrassingly shivers, and then he lets Sam pull him back onto the sofa where they can curl up around each other. They never make it out of the apartment for dinner, despite Sam's half-hearted attempts to get Steve to take him out on a proper date. 

"At least come and be lazy on my sofa next weekend," Sam asks, his head tucked into the crook of Steve's neck and shoulder. 

"I'll pencil it in for you. Sofa, Friday night." 

* 

When Steve gets into work on Monday, there's a purple post-it note on his desk, with a short, neatly printed message on it: 

_Dinner. 6pm. Already in your calendar. -Sam xx_


End file.
